Fearing to Attempt
by Aerial312
Summary: Tony finds that the truth isn't as difficult as he expected.


_Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt", _

_Measure for Measure, 1.4_

_William Shakespeare_

Over the top of his computer monitor, Tony watched discreetly as Ziva packed up her backpack and put away the files on her desk. She kept glancing at the clock. Ten more minutes and she was on vacation for the rest of the week. This had her in a good mood as she worked. A soft smile had graced her face all afternoon as they had finished case reports.

If she'd know he was watching her, she wouldn't have been so free with her smile. She never smiled as much if she thought someone was watching. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, that she still put up those masks around him, but her friend from Miami got to see her free of those inhibitions. How could he see that Ziva more often? As much as it killed him that some other guy was the reason, he truly meant it when he had told her that he was glad that she was happy. She had been through so much in the last few years, she deserved it. If only he could figure out how to be the cause of that happiness.

She hardly ever found him funny anymore. Despite claiming that she preferred funny-Tony to serious-Tony, funny-Tony seemed to annoy her more and more. Things that used to amuse her irritated her. He didn't know how to turn that around, but knew he needed to, somehow.

Across the aisle, Ziva tugged the elastic out of her hair, letting the long curls tumble down around her shoulders. She combed her fingers through it, using her computer screen as a mirror. He preferred her hair down, and curly. He always had liked it that way. She used to wear it that way a lot. He had fond memories of her pulling that purple head scarf off they day they had met, using that beautiful hair as a way to distract him. He remembered it falling down into his face from his when they were undercover, getting to brush the unruly strands back behind her ear. The way it felt brushing against his bare chest…

She seldom wore it that way at work anymore—usually it was pulled back tightly. Mr. Miami got it though, he sighed. Ziva looked up and in his direction. He hadn't meant to sigh out loud.

"What is the problem?" she asked.

He had totally been caught staring. "No problem," he smiled.

"You sighed in frustration, just then."

"I can't sigh?"

"You have been staring for the last five minutes."

"No—"

"You have." Her lips quirked up.

Damn those ninja senses. He thought he was being subtle, but of course she'd noticed. Better to deny it.

"I wasn't staring."

"No?"

"Nope."

"I see." Her lips set in a frown and she turned away from him, busying herself with her bag.

Well, that had been the wrong choice. He took a deep breath. He couldn't just let this go.

"You'd prefer I said that I was staring?" he asked.

"You were staring." She looked back up at him.

"You got mad because I said that I wasn't—"

"Because you obviously were—"

"But you would have gotten mad if I admitted I ** had** been staring."

Ziva crossed her arms, glaring at him silently. He had to find a way out of the hole he had dug himself into. Apparently she wanted the truth today.

"I like your hair like that," he told her simply, watching her reaction carefully.

Something softened in her expression. "You are trying to distract me."

"No," he protested. "That's why I'm staring."

"Why did you sigh like that? It was not a happy sound," she asked curiously.

"You hardly ever wear it like that anymore," he hedged.

"Down?"

"And curly."

She studied him for a moment. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you like it like that?"

Because she looked incredibly hot with her hair down. He couldn't say that though. He bit his lip, continuing to stare across the aisle at her as he tried to come up with an answer. He wasn't having any luck, and she was getting impatient.

"Because it's hot."

Instead of getting mad, she grinned in response. "Hot?"

"Very."

"And this distracts you?"

"All the time," he chuckled nervously.

Her brow furrowed. "So why did you sigh unhappily?"

"Because you never wear your hair like that at work anymore. It's always up."

"And that upset you?" she laughed.

"That you took it down just as you're leaving to…" he shook his head, and looked down at his computer again, unable to watch her reaction to this.

She didn't say anything right away, but a few moments later, she was right behind him, those beautiful dark curls brushing against the side of his face. "You are jealous."

Her tone wasn't mean. She was simply stating what she saw to be a fact. She was testing him. She wanted a reaction to that statement, only he wasn't sure what the correct reaction was. He leaned back against her shoulder and inhaled deeply. Oranges.

"Maybe I am," he admitted.

She didn't say anything for a while, letting him lean back into her. "You know, if you had told me that before, perhaps I would have worn my hair down more often," she told him finally, pressing her lips to the top of his head before heading back to her own desk.

"Yeah?"

"Why do you think that I wear it down for my friend? He has **told ** me that he likes it that way."

Tony thought about that for a moment. When he looked up, Ziva again stood in the aisle, coat and backpack on.

"Heading out?"

"Time to catch my flight."

Tony kept his face carefully neutral, not wanting the disappointment that he felt ruin the moment that they had just shared. "When will you be back?"

"Sunday morning."

"See you then."

"On Sunday?" she laughed.

He shrugged. "I could pick you up from the airport, so you don't have to take the Metro."

"That would be nice," she replied, after a moment. "I will email you the flight info." She started down the hallway to the elevator.

"Have a good trip," he called after her.

She briefly turned to smile back at him. Maybe there was something to this honesty thing. It wasn't nearly as scary as he'd expected it to be.


End file.
